


we’re ships in the night

by mallory



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers for Season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallory/pseuds/mallory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her thumb hovers over the number, eyeing the doors and windows cautiously—she knows it’s dangerous to be this reckless when they have worked so hard to get this far, but when you’re gunning for your innocence it’s hard not to clutch onto the memories of your past, no matter that it was a lie.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>
      <em>~&~</em>
    </b>
  </p>
</div><p>The one where they play phone tag and reminisce through voicemails on each other’s cell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sir crispin crandall

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone else swoon when he called Liz his wife last ep?
> 
> Think of this work as " ~~missing~~ bonus scenes" between episodes that both slightly diverges from and complies with canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 8/9/16.

Liz fakes a yawn, covering her open mouth politely for good measure. “I should go to bed.” She sighs then smiles at Red in the armchair beside her.

They’re in a motel he managed to find in the middle of god-knows-where for the night. Raymond Reddington has connections with criminals at just about every level, but she’s not one to complain, especially when she’s the one reaping the benefits. Luck has absolutely nothing to do with how far they’ve come.

“It’s been a long day.”

He hums, watching her with a ghost of a smile and fiddling with the fedora perched on his knee in a way she can only describe as calculating. “Get some rest, Lizzie.”

She crosses the small living area of his room and to the conjoining door that leads to her own stark dank room.

“Sleep tight,” he rumbles just as her hand reaches the knob. “We’ll be leaving at dawn.”

Turning around, she bids him a final smile. “Goodnight.”

Liz is stripped down to her black tank and underwear and settled into the twin-sized bed when she finally breaks. She has her phone in her hand and a lump lodged firmly in her chest.

(It never gets easier, sleeping alone, and she hates that she craves it; hates that she still yearns for the comfort of his warm body pressed against hers.)

Her thumb hovers over the number on the short list in her call logs—she knows it’s dangerous to be this reckless when they have worked so hard to get this far, but when you’re gunning for your innocence it’s hard not to clutch onto the memories of your past, no matter that it was a lie.

She brings the phone up to her ear and holds her breath as it rings. And rings.

The room’s dark, save for the light from her phone. The heavy curtains over her window are impervious against the relentlessly ugly neon motel sign across the courtyard. She never really liked the dark; she’s vulnerable when her senses are deprived, but it’s okay for what she’s about to do now. Her secret are always safe in the dark.

The bathroom sink drips with a deafeningly quiet _blip_ , as if in agreement.

She’s about to hang up, resigned that he’s busy—she scoffs at that, the word evoking thoughts of when _busy_ meant in a parent-teacher meeting or grading spelling tests and not assassinating criminals or embodying a whole other different person with the ease of pulling his pants on.

As she’s pulling the phone from her ear, she catches the sound of his voice. “ _… here. Leave a message._ ” Surprised that he’s set up a voicemail, she doesn’t get the chance to hang up before the sharp beep sounds.

_Fuck it._

“Um, hi. Tom,” she says on a breath.

(It’s difficult to think of him as anyone else when her heart beats for him the way it did for her husband.)

Suddenly aware of the state of herself (in more ways than one), she sinks further into the bed and clutches the phone closer. “I don’t know why I called… Or why I’m leaving a message. I guess I just want to know how you’re doing.” She laughs quietly because: “Shit, that was lame.”

The sheets rustle as she rolls onto her side, fits the phone against her cheek and the stiff pillow under her head, and curls into herself. A tired sigh escapes.

“I had a long day.” She tries to lighten her tone, but doesn’t know if she’s succeeding as she jokes, “Don’t ever say being on the lam means action and excitement every day.” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Hey, remember when we were watching _Bonnie and Clyde_ that one night? We were cuddled on the couch, all the lights were off—except for Ike. You made a passing comment about how ‘hectic’ their lives were on the run…”

She thought his incredulous comment made him sound adorable and unadventurous—if only she knew. His deep voice had thundered throughout his chest under her ear, his chest hair tickling her cheek as she swirled lazy patterns into his side, his own fingers delicately trailing the length of her naked back and inducing goosebumps that slowly spread throughout her body. Their clothes were carelessly strewn about their living room in their haste to feel each other after coming back from a romantic dinner filled with delicious wine, teasing touches and suggestive smiles.

Clearing her throat, Liz grabs her phone and falls onto her back, blinking up into darkness.

(God, she’d give anything to go back to that night.)

“Anyway, I hope you’re being safe. I—” _love you_ , was just about to roll off the tip of her tongue before she catches it and swallows it down. Too bad it comes up smoother than it goes down, and a strangled sound chokes out from the back of her throat with the effort. “Goodnight, Tom.”

She ends the call, and it’s the most anti-climatic thing in the restless storm that’s now her life. But that’s okay. It’s more than, actually, because digging up fond memories is enough to her get through her hectic present. For now, she’s living for her past.


	2. zal bin hasaan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 8/9/16.

The world outside blurs past him like a soap-stained window. He’s speeding down the quiet streets, on his way to Cooper’s. He waited until the sky turned a dark inky black before he could take off. He couldn’t otherwise explain the man he has shoved into the trunk if he was caught in daylight because someone heard or saw movement. “To exonerate my wife,” doesn’t seem reason enough to anyone else but Tom.

—Yes, Tom Keen was burned months ago, but he still finds himself slinking into old habits, and when it comes to love, they never die.

It’s hard to shake the guy when the woman he loves is in love with Tom. And who can blame her? Tom’s a better person than Jacob could ever be.

He’s never had any trouble slipping into a deep cover; pretending to be someone else is easy when you hate the person you are. He should’ve registered how it was a little _too_ easy to play pretend with Liz. He even deluded himself into believing their marriage was real. It sure felt like the realest thing he’s ever known.

It’s too fucking bad it took losing Liz to realise that.

He checks the rearview mirror for any sign of a tail before turning down into a familiar street. He’s covered in blood and sweat and he hasn't showered in over twenty-four hours. He needs a place to get cleaned up. Gotta look presentable before hand delivering a kidnapped criminal to a fed.

Pulling into a homey-looking house that belongs to—you know what? It’s better if you don’t know—he parks the car in the driveway. Scanning around for anything suspicious (besides himself), he climbs the few steps leading up to the porch and knocks on the front door.

The porch light switches on moments later, and through the glass, a man’s face appears from the darkness within.

Tom offers a dry smile and a finger-curling wave.

The door opens to reveal the man in a ratty robe and a shotgun in his hand. He takes in Tom’s appearance with a grunt. “What’re you doing here?”

“You owe me,” Tom simply states.

Sighing, the man steps aside and opens the door wider. “Just don’t wake up Janine.”

“I’ll be out before the sunrises. She’ll never know I was here.” _And you’ll forget I was_. But that doesn’t need to be said; they both know the terms.

* * *

Tom steps out of the small, newly refurnished bathroom in the basement. The whole basement has transformed from the last time he was here, from a dingy storage place to a large guest room. There’s a dresser pushed up against one wall and a mirror tacked on beside it. Opposite is a twin bed with fresh-smelling sheets and the bathroom from where he just exited. Adjacent is the door leading into the backyard where he’ll escape after an hour or two of napping.

Back in his jeans, he’s towelling off his wet hair as he approaches the bed where he threw his phone before hopping into the shower. He turns it on for the first time since his last conversation with Cooper.

It beeps, signalling a voicemail.

From Liz.

His heart beats heavily in his chest. Something must be wrong. Why else would she risk reaching out to him and leaving a message?

He can’t seem to get his fingers working fast enough to listen to the recording, and when his phone’s up to his ear and her breathy voice fills his head, everything else fades away.

_God, I missed you._

He replays the message once more and takes care to note every hitch in her voice, every breath she takes and word she utters. His mouth curves when she laughs and he shuts his eyes as she describes that night with a hint of sadness in her tone. He remembers it. Not every detail, but he especially remembers how uncomfortable it was making love to her on the couch.

He dials her number. He wants to say so much, but whether on the phone or in person, he isn’t sure. There are some things that would be easier to say over the phone, if only because he’d be too tempted to touch her if she were within reach, and he doesn’t know if she’d appreciate the contact.

But there are other things he needs to say to her face. He’d need to see her eyes, her mouth. Watch her shoulders shift ever so slightly with every breath she takes. He’d need to feel her presence and grasp onto that feeling he’s grown to expect—a feeling that’s slipping away faster than he can catch up to.

He doesn’t know how he feels when she doesn’t pick up and her own voicemail starts. He was hoping they could have a proper conversation where he could hear her in real time and be sure that she’s okay.

It’s dangerous, trying to contact her without it being essential to what’s been happening, but he can’t help himself. That seems to be the theme when it comes to Liz. He’d be concerned how much of a liability loving her is if he just doesn’t fucking care.

“ _This is Keen._ ” A drawn out high-pitched beep sounds a second later, announcing his turn to speak.

“It’s me. If you’re not careful, I might think that you actually miss me.” Something about that steals his breath. He likes that she teased him, and he thought it only fair to keep it up. It's something they used to do, a lifetime ago.

“I can’t talk for long.” He wants to bring up the latest development, but at the same time, wants to keep these voicemails away from that. It’s like these conversations are messages in a bottle and the contents of them shouldn't be tainted with their messy present. “But I do. Remember that night. I remember how beautiful you looked in your dress... the secret smiles you gave me from across the table during dinner. You looked at me like I was the only person who mattered, and I wanted that. I wanted it because that’s who you became to me. You’re the only thing that matters."

It's something about the way she spoke of that night that drives him to let that last part slip. He gets it, that she feels betrayed or robbed. But he wants her to know the truth, whether or not his word means anything to her anymore.

“Be safe, Liz. I’ll see you soon.” It’s a promise—because if he’s sure of one thing, it’s that he’ll do anything to save Liz because she saved him first. Exonerating her seems insignificant for the slice of happiness she gave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are encouraging. Constructive criticism welcomed.


	3. kings of the highway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited: 8/9/16.

“Too far?” Tom whispers into his phone after the resounding beep on Liz’s number.

He has a minute of reprieve from the craziness in the last twelve hours or so. Cooper and the missus are in the living room of a cabin overlooking Lake Yvonne, watching over Karakurt. Or rather, they’re quietly arguing while the poor bastard is lying on the couch, exhausted from all the blood loss and forced to listen to their marital drama.

After Tom escaped into the little bathroom and turned his phone on, he was more than a little disappointed that there wasn’t a voicemail waiting for him. It’s fast becoming the best part of his day.

Lizzie never was one to give him the silent treatment if she were upset with him. But that was before. When they came home to each other. When they were in love and showed it. When she didn’t know their marriage was built on lies.

Things are different now.

Leaning against the sink, Tom tilts his head back and shuts his eyes. “I’m not telling you anything that’s not true, and I’m sorry if that scares you or if you don’t believe me.” He sighs, like that simple action is going to lift the heavy weight on his chest.

It doesn’t.

Pressing against his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he drops his head and relishes in the pinpricks of colour that fizzles behind his eyelids. He blinks them open again and takes in the simple bathroom. The ceramic toilet, pale green shower curtain and wooden walls. It’s bigger than the last cabin bathroom he was in.

“Remember that one summer at that little cabin in the middle of butt nowhere?” He pauses under some delusional hope that somehow she’ll pick up and answer him.

She doesn’t.

They were still dating then. She teased him about romantic getaways on a teacher’s salary as they pulled up the unpaved driveway and she saw what a shit hole the cabin was. It was more _rust_ than rustic. But there was a reason he forked over the cash to rent the place for a week.

“That first night,” he says, “out on the back deck that looked over the lake. The sun was setting and casting a gorgeous glow over the still water. It was peaceful.” She needed it after a stressful five months at the FBI Academy. For a week, they did nothing but swim, eat and drink, and make love. He remembers feeling the tension in her shoulders melt under his touch that first night; he loved that he could make her relax. It fortified the knowledge that he’d gotten under her skin. Just as much as she’d gotten under his.

If he’s being honest—and really, it’s somewhat of a new concept for him—he doesn’t want to go back to the way things were. Sure, he liked the little life they made together and it was easier to pretend that it was as perfect as he made her think it was, but Liz finding out the truth was freeing in a way. Now she knows him. All of him. He doesn’t have to wonder or play the dangerous game of ‘what if’. It’s out there. She knows.

And now there’s a real chance that they could be together for real this time. No secrets, no lies. If only she wants it.

But okay, the state of their relationship right now shouldn’t even be a blimp on his radar at the moment, what with Liz being on the top of the Most Wanted list. But selfishly and stupidly, it is. He wants to know where her heart is at. He wants to know what she wants. If she wants him— _them_.

What _he_ wants is easy. “I only ever want you to be happy. And safe.”

If there’s a minuscule of a chance that he can be the one to give those to her—to share and be those with her, then he’s sure as fucking all hell going to fight to give her exactly what she wants, and if doing that would provide him with enough room to wiggle his way into being a part of what her heart desires, then that’s a bonus.—No, it’s more than a bonus, it’s _everything_.

Maybe Liz reaching out like this was just a moment of weakness. But she wouldn’t have done it if there isn’t still something there. If she doesn’t still feel for him on any level in any way.

The thought brings him back to their last face-to-face meeting. Hearing her voice is one thing, but seeing her; breathing and _alive_ —it filled up him, fuelled his drive to clear her name and prove her innocence.

“You look good as a blonde,” he says, feeling the corner of his mouth tick up. “Too good. If blending was part of your plan, I don’t think blonde was the best choice. But I wouldn’t be against it if you decided to keep the look after all this is over.”

The door bangs and Tom jerks to his feet. Cooper’s impatient voice filters through.

“Be safe, Lizzie,” he tacks on quickly, quietly. He ends the call.


End file.
